I wrote this for Triple R's The Trip, a subscriber only magazine issued in August.
The Final Albums of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr
Between
1982-84, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr, the core members of the
Rat Pack, all released their final solo studio albums. Strange, patchy affairs,
with two recorded in Nashville and the other adding electronics, they are
incongruous blots at the end of generally esteemed careers. By 1982, they were
hardly in their prime (Sinatra 67, Martin 65 and Davis Jr 57), and their boozy
crooning and misogynist humour was not in vogue. Even the lounge revival,
itself a disrespectful satire of their Vegas showbiz style, was a decade away.
Lured by money,
contractual obligations, curiosity or boredom, all three returned to the
studio, perhaps regrettably, for a last hurrah. For all their faults, each
reflects – in a rather warped way - the history and personality of their star,
and collectively they reveal a picture of the entertainment industry’s
perception and treatment of faded glory. Let’s revisit these long forgotten (if
ever considered) products and see if anything still sparkles.
Frank Sinatra: LA Is My Lady (Qwest, 1984)
Sinatra’s final
solo album (not counting Duets of 1993, or indeed 94’s Duets II)
is the most respectable of the three, with by far the biggest budget, and
corresponding effort, and is consequently the least interesting. Hardly
surprising as his career had fewer outright lowlights than Dean or Sammy, and
Sinatra, the consummate professional, seemed unable to do anything half
hearted, or use irony (his appearance in The Canonball Run 2 excepted –
note his body double in scenes with Burt Reynolds). It’s telling too that, of
the three, only Sinatra strives to remain relevant and update his sound for the
eighties: recruiting Quincy Jones, at his peak in 1984, and a huge cast of
crack players, from George Benson to the Brecker Brothers. He also adds
synthesizers, and on the title track, disco rhythms. These kitsch moments are
amusing, but for the most part it’s just a bigger big band and a tired
Frank. This is especially so on “How to Keep the Music Playing”, another disco
number, which asks the wrong question and truly drags. The joy of LA Is My
Lady however is in watching money and talent squandered, producing
something dazzling but flat, smoke and mirrors, more coal than diamond. It was also
released on video and featured Frank’s latest pallies, Eddie Van Halen, Donna Summer and David Lee Roth, broadcast on the fledgling MTV
Network. As a final insult, LA is my Lady was
recorded in New York .
Dean Martin: The Nashville Sessions (Warner Brothers, 1983)
By 1983 Dino
hadn’t released an album since 1978’s Once In A While, which was cobbled
together from recordings from back in 1974. Like all of his seventies output, Once
in a While was an ugly melange of 1930s Tin Pan Alley standards rendered in
country-tinged pop-brass, with Dean swanning in at the last moment to overdub
his vocal parts. The ultimate menefreghista, as biographer Nick Tosches
dubbed him: he didn’t care then and he certainly doesn’t on Nashville .
Dino had dabbled in country on a number of albums (Dino “Tex” Martin Rides
Again, Country Style, Gentle On My Mind), not to mention dixieland (Way
Out Yonder, Dino Goes Dixie, Southern Style); indeed, there was little he
didn’t touch (French Style, Cha-Cha-Cha D’Amour, Sings Italian Love Songs,
Dino Latino, countless Christmas albums). With The Nashville Sessions
however, Dino dips more than a toe in the country pool: Merle Haggard joins him
on “Everybody’s Had The Blues”, and Conway Twitty on “My First Country Song”.
At 65, and with
a lifetime of booze, fags and indifference behind him, Dean’s voice has a
weathered purr comparable to late Johnny Cash (Dino always, bafflingly, had a
Southern drawl, despite being an Italian from Ohio), and few seem as
comfortable fronting such studio froth (his TV career was sodden with canned
laughter). Opener “Old Bones” is a highlight, a loping self-pitying ballad
about ageing featuring the line “I love life I’d like to do it again”. This
rings particularly hollow given Dino’s addiction to painkillers, suicide attempts
and almost violent misanthropy. “Drinking Champagne ” is more accurate: “I’m
drinking champagne, and feeling no pain, ‘til early morning”. The pace never
quickens from slurred ballad crawl, with “Shoulder to Shoulder” and “In Love Up
To My Heart” both particularly narcoleptic, cloaked in anodyne female backing
(a Dino trademark). The Nashville Sessions also features Dean’s only
music video, produced by his son Ricci, “Since I Met You Baby”: tuxedoed Dino,
glassy eyed and lost amidst sequences of swimsuited eighties ladies, palm trees
and cheap video effects. Prime fodder for sampling chill wave hypnagogues but,
alas, The Nashville Sessions has so far eluded the modern hipster’s
retro grasp.
Sammy Davis Jr: The Closest of Friends (Applause, 1982)
Recorded in Nashville, hardly the logical musical resting place of Sammy
Davis Jr, The Closest of Friends (also known as Sings Country
Classics) is among the most strangely poignant of final albums. With
material penned by the city’s country finest (Don Gibson, Kris Kristofferson,
Merle Travis), yet cheaply recorded with plastic keyboards and hokey
arrangements, it pits Sammy’s still impressive croon (he was the youngest of
the three) against cold industry indifference and musical mediocrity. This was
a context Dino seemed drawn to, even thrive in, but Sammy comes off second
best. “Smoke Smoke Smoke That Cigarette” is pleasingly macabre, opening to
Sammy’s wheeze before he boasts “I’ve smoked all my life and I ‘aint dead yet”
(he would be, by throat cancer, in 1990). Sammy is on decent form throughout,
but it’s a struggle: through ill-fitting flange guitar gospel (“Come Sundown”),
wayward Casio runs (“Mention a Mansion) and awkward lyrics ("Hey, Won't
You Play (Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song)". The standout
however goes to “(We Could Have Been) The Closest of Friends”, which reads like
a heartfelt plea to his more famous and accepted white Rat Packers, his musical
colleagues in Nashville, and even his audience. As with Martin’s late work,
there is something perversely endearing in the loveless product that is The
Closest of Friends, but this scrapes a barrel lower than Dean ever did,
with Sammy reluctantly forced to eat what he’s served. As testament to the
industry’s enduring disrespect for Sammy Davis Jr, The Closest of Friends
is among his most frequently reissued albums, generally with misleading album
title and artwork.
Sammy was the first to go, aged 64 (damned cigarettes!), with Dean
following in 1995 (fittingly on Christmas Day, aged 78) and Frank making it to
82 in 1998. All joined forces, briefly, in 1988 for a railroad-stadium reunion
tour, but Martin bailed early, to be replaced by Liza Minelli. Aside from
Frank’s stocking filler Duets albums they recorded nothing more. Out
with a whimper, like flat champagne, but one with a strange, lingering
aftertaste that may just grow on you.
